3D Poetry

Poetry

The Garden

The following poems are randomly selected from part B of the Garden series.

If you are patient, the whole story may appear. There is a doorway on this site, that will open to the poetry collection, both in context and complexity.

Battle of Lorac

This is where it all started.
A 'modest' Assistant, met some Tenders in Lorac;
A squad of Niknogard were in an Ela House,
When the Wigrae started an all out attack.

The Niknogard were considerably outnumbered;
Everything, was in the favour of the Wigrae.
They had the numbers, and reinforcements.
They had planned everything for this day.

Lorac, is far from civilised Garden;
The squad were on a routine border patrol.
This battle was to be the shortest;
The squads name, to be entered into the War's Scroll.

The Wigrae had proven their point;
In this flurry, they were the largest and best.
As for now they will keep,
Whilst we lay our beloved to an unending rest.

V-Day

Spies have informed Kindaal of invading Wigrae;
The whole entire force of the Wigrae.
Kindaal has shown compassion in asking for the Niknogard.
It is here that together, they planned V-Day.

Vengeance Day was to go down in history:
Angel Mountain and the sun about to shine.
The Wigrae and Niknogard on opposing sides.
The Wigrae encountered the sun's rays and became blind.

Their vision was restored to meet the battle,
With this the Niknogard commenced their battle cry.
The numbers were more even in this fight,
Except that more Wigrae were going to die.

Casualties resulted, heavily on both sides,
The Wigrae's numbers deteriorated rapidly.
Their true colours started to show,
They began a retreat rather haphazardly.

When

Tension is beginning to mount,
Having to wait for the inevitable;
Pressure is at a breaking point,
The Garden's fate is undecideable.

Everyone, knows that it is going to happen,
It's just that no one, knows when.
Why, is it starting over again?
The fate of now is probably then.

Minds, running uncontrollably loose;
Anxieties, pumping adrenaline at a phenomenal rate.
Heart is your mouth and so is your stomach,
Nerves unable to contemplate a changing fate.

Memories flood into your mind and soul,
Your throat swells with an emotional lump.
You become aware that you've been shaking;
Your heart no longer beats, it's a persistent thump.

Meek of the Squadron

Welcome to the Divisional Aerial Field;
There are so many squadrons to see and greet.
They range from the Sloths to the Sijsads;
We, being the latter are the Assistants meek.

Most of the flying Assistants join forces,
Attacking in the same manner of fashion.
The way we attack is to remove the life force,
This is completed in a frenzied violent passion.

We the Sijsad consist mainly of infiltrates,
Performing in the art of the gracious spy.
We find the weaknesses and or strong points,
Finding out who can or can't fly.

It doesn't always work the way we would like;
The Tenders aren't partial to bribes,
Not through lack of trying to convince;
Tenders pick up all evil nasty vibes.

Battle of the Heart

The first major battle is fought,
Within all and every Tender's heart.
The rage has to be controlled,
The torment and anger held apart.

These emotions have to be channelled,
Not to be let loose on a wild rampage.
Rexoch decided to appoint Kindaal,
To hold the leash of this enormous rage.

Kindaal is now General of the Tender,
Although he was formerly of the Fair.
His spirit is unbreakable and sincere,
Common Tender think that he walks upon air.

He has already organised the united masses,
Formed them into Battalions and Divisions.
He has chosen the best Captains for the Tender;
The best strategists for the coming missions.

Brothers of Gub

I am a member, of the Brothers of Gub.
I, myself am a member of the lower order,
Being just a normal, humble Surtic;
Not even recognised as being a marauder.

One day, I'm going to be something;
Maybe even a Quinharle, or even a Faelminer.
I may even end up being , an Ecal Gub;
That promotion is a raise, that couldn't be finer.

They get the best jobs, and rewards.
Imagine, never again, being placed in the line;
The line of death, the confrontation of good.
Instead of drinking Emils, able to drink wine.

If only he would let me go,
Let me become one of my brothers,
Then, and only then will I sublet,
And show some respect, to the others.